Michael had come over to see how things were going. He clucked with understanding.
“I can share the night watch,” said Mrs. Anderson.
Ginny sighed. “Thanks anyway. But Pam and I can do it. It can’t be too much longer.”
“That’s what you said a week ago,” said Pam. She was sitting on an overturned bucket by the feed room door. Her chin was in her hands. Her eyes were shut. “Why don’t we just skip one night and catch up on our sleep?”
Michael grinned. “If you do, I can promise Mokey will foal that very night.”
“It seems so strange that anything as big as a pony can go into labor without any warning signs at all,” said Mrs. Anderson.
“It does indeed,” agreed Michael. “On the big breeding farms, they watch the mares day and night in the foaling barns. But even there, many foals have been born when the night watchman just slipped out for a few minutes for a cup of coffee.”
“It doesn’t always happen that fast, though, does it?” asked Pam.
“Not always,” said Michael. “Just often enough.”
Pam yawned. “Mokey is smart enough to take naps,” said Ginny’s mother. “I think you two girls should follow her example. I’ll take the watch this afternoon.”
“I think Mokey’s made the whole thing up,” muttered Ginny. “I think she’s just enjoying the whole thing as a joke.” Mokey wandered back into her stall to eat more of her straw bedding.
Ginny and Pam slept all afternoon. They felt much better that evening. They cleaned the stall and fed Mokey. While Mokey was eating, Ginny peered hopefully at the pony’s swollen udder.
“She’s got milk, I’m sure,” Ginny reported to Pam. She patted Mokey on the shoulder. “You’ve kept us waiting long enough,” she said firmly. “Vacation is almost over. Have it tonight.”
Mokey turned her head. She slobbered bran mash on Ginny’s shoulder. She got one of Ginny’s braids full of wet bran as well.
Sighing, Ginny plodded up to the house to wash her hair.
But by Sunday evening Mokey still had not foaled. Almost in tears, Pam had to go home. School started the next morning.
“I could scream,” Ginny told her mother between clenched teeth. She dragged her math book out from under her vet book and made a face. “How can I focus on this stuff all day at school? It isn’t fair!”
Ginny’s mother and father were understanding but firm. School came first. Anyway, the chances were that the pony would foal at night, when Ginny was home. Dr. Nichols and Michael and the vet book all said so. They couldn’t be sure, of course.
Ginny knew all this. But it didn’t help at all. On Monday morning, it was all she could do to drag herself out of bed, feed Mokey, and start her own breakfast. The cereal tasted soggy and stale. She pushed it aside and drank her milk. She shuddered. It tasted heavy and sour.
Ginny’s mother hurried out the door. She gave her daughter a quick kiss. She promised that she would be back in less than an hour so that she could watch Mokey for the rest of the day.
Ginny got her books together. She looked at the clock on the kitchen wall. Almost time to leave for the bus. She searched in the pocket of her jacket for her gloves. Then she remembered that she’d left them in the stable that morning. They were on top of the oat bin.
With a sigh, Ginny walked tiredly down to the barn.
Mokey was still eating her breakfast. She rattled her feed tub cheerfully. Ginny poked her head through the door to say good-bye. For the hundredth time that morning, Ginny looked her pony over for any sign of coming labor. The muscles on either side of the tail sometimes showed to give warning. Or a waxy substance sometimes showed that the first milk was ready.
Nothing. Ginny sighed and turned away.
As she started to close the door, she saw Mokey raise her head. It was as though she were listening to a faraway sound. Then the pony turned. She circled once in her straw bed and quietly lay down.
Ginny stood still at the stall door. She was stunned by surprise. Mokey never left her feed until every last grain had been finished. She never lay down during the day. Except for the nap she took at noon outside her stall door when the sun was high.
Mokey got up. She pawed the straw uneasily. Then she circled the stall and lay down again.
Ginny’s hands were shaking with excitement. She shut the door. She hurried outside to shut the doors leading into the paddock. Then she raced up to the house.
She flung her books on the floor. She dove for the telephone in the hall. Dr. Nichols’s receptionist answered the phone. The doctor was in surgery, she said. He could not come to the telephone. Could she take a message?
“Tell him that I think Mokey’s in labor!” Ginny said. She was frantic.
There was a silence that seemed to last forever. Then the receptionist’s cool voice said, “Dr. Nichols will be there just as soon as he can.”
Even through her excitement, Ginny understood that the doctor could not leave another animal in the middle of an operation. In a hurry, she dialed the number of the Jennings stable. Pam had already left for school. The boy who often came to help Michael with the horses answered the stable phone. He reported that Michael was out exercising Mr. Jennings’s hunter. He promised to give him the message about Mokey as soon as he came in.
Ginny hesitated. She grabbed a pad and pencil from beside the phone. She scribbled the word “Mokey” on it. She propped it against the sugar bowl on the kitchen table. This way her mother would see it as soon as she got home. Then she ran back down to the stable.
Chapter Eleven
Mokey whinnied loudly at the sound of Ginny’s footsteps. Ginny opened the door to the stall. She found the pony was up on her feet. She looked bright and carefree.
Ginny glared at Mokey with anger. “What a dirty trick,” she said in a shaking voice. “You’ve made me miss the school bus for nothing at all. Nobody’s going to believe for one minute that I really thought you were in labor.”
Ginny stopped. She had been so surprised and disappointed to find Mokey standing up. Then she had been so worried about what her parents and teachers were going to say. She hadn’t noticed the fresh light sweat on the pony’s flanks.
“Oh, Moke,” Ginny said softly. “You’ve got me in such a spin over this whole thing that I can’t think straight. It is time now, isn’t it?”
Mokey made a soft, whuffling sound. She poked her nose against Ginny’s jacket and turned away. Ginny watched in silence. The pony moved restlessly around in her stall. She pawed at the straw.
Ginny forced herself to move slowly. She took a long, shivery breath. The uncertainty had gone away. Instead, Ginny felt a strange calmness. It was like the hushed stillness before a thunderstorm. She wished there were someone with her. But it couldn’t be helped. She was alone with Mokey. The foal was coming. There was nothing more she could do but wait.
She sat down on the fresh pile of hay in the corner of the stall. Mokey switched her tail. She poked her side uneasily with her muzzle. Then she lay down. A ripple of muscles moved across her flanks. The first contractions had started.
The contractions grew stronger. Mokey lay with her legs curled under her. She rested for a few minutes. Her head was outstretched. There was a dreamy, faraway look in her eyes. Ginny moved a little to ease a cramp in one leg. Mokey’s eyes flew open. She turned her head to look at Ginny. Then she struggled to her feet.
Ginny murmured soothing, meaningless words. A dog barked somewhere. Mokey spun around. She was tense with fright. Ginny got up and shut the stall window. She went on talking to her pony. Mokey began to lose her look of alarm. Slowly she relaxed. She circled her stall and lay down again.
Ginny’s mouth felt sandy and dry. She swallowed with a gulp. She tried to feel the calm she’d felt a few minutes before. But it was no use. She’d heard or read so many stories about mares in trouble foaling. They spun through her mind. She felt sick. She wanted to run out of the stall. She wanted to call Dr. Nichols again, or Michael, or som
eone. Ginny had never felt so alone in her life.
She stood at the side of the stall. She jammed her sweaty hands into her pockets. Mokey let her breath out with a soft puff from the force of a contraction. Ginny’s heart jumped with a sudden rush of excitement. She could see the tip of one tiny hoof. Then there was another. One more contraction. There was the tip of a small muzzle. It looked blurred and out of focus behind the covering membrane.
“If you can see two front hooves and the muzzle of the foal, you will know its position is good.” Ginny remembered Dr. Nichols telling her this. More contractions came. The foal’s entire head and neck were showing. Mokey rested again.
Ginny couldn’t believe it. Somehow she had thought that once the foal started to be born, all of it would come in a rush. But nothing was happening. Everything was still. There was such silence in the stall. Ginny could hear nothing but the pounding of her own heart.
The contractions started again. Mokey was breathing hard. Ginny’s knees were starting to shake. She knelt in the straw beside the pony. She tried to remember some of the things she’d been told. “Don’t get in the way. Let nature take its course. Don’t bother the mare unless you have to.” But what was the difference between getting in the way and helping? Where did one change into the other? Ginny felt tears running down her cheeks. She didn’t know what to do.
She heard the door opening quietly behind her. Then Michael’s low voice filled the stall with warm, comforting sounds. It drove away the awful silence that had seemed so scary. Through her tears, Ginny began to giggle. Michael’s voice had the same tone she used herself when Mokey was afraid.
“Time to lend a hand,” said Michael. He came calmly into the stall.
Ginny stood up. She felt dizzy with relief. “I don’t know when I’ve been so glad to see someone,” she said. Her voice was a hoarse whisper. She moved away from Mokey.
The pony turned her head. She nickered softly to Michael. Then another strong contraction took her breath away. Ginny waited for Michael to move forward. When he didn’t, she looked up at him with a puzzled frown.
“Aren’t you going to do something?” she said.
Michael looked back at her. “Wouldn’t you like to do it yourself? You can’t learn any younger,” he said.
Ginny looked at Mokey for one confused moment. She paused. Then she knelt again beside the half-born foal.
“Okay,” she said. “Tell me what to do.”
She heard Michael’s voice. It sounded as though it were coming from a long way off. But it was clear and quiet. “The foal doesn’t seem to be in trouble yet. Neither does the mare. But what you’re going to do now is just help things along a little. Somewhere along the way, the foal stops getting air through the umbilical cord. Right now he’s between one world and the next. Take hold of his forelegs. Then pull when the next contraction comes.”
Ginny’s hands were shaking. She didn’t know what to expect. The membrane around the foal looked strange and slimy. Ginny had to make herself reach out. She was surprised and relieved. The legs of the unborn foal were strong and thin. They felt warm and alive in her hands.
The next contraction came.
“Good,” said Michael. “Pull firmly. Down toward the mare’s hocks.” The foal didn’t move. Mokey rested.
Ginny braced herself. With the next contraction, she gave another pull. The foal slipped gently out onto the straw.
Ginny sat back on her heels. She stared at the bundle of head and body and legs. It was lying still in its membrane covering.
“Quickly now,” said Michael sharply. “Break the membrane at its head.”
Ginny tugged gently at the membrane. It looked so fragile. She was shocked at how strong it was. She yanked at it with frantic fingers. It tore silently. Ginny pulled it away from the foal’s tiny muzzle. Its head looked strange as it came out of its covering. Its eyes were shut. Its thin ears were limp.
Michael handed Ginny a stack of folded towels. They had been ready on the shelf in the tack room. Ginny rubbed the foal’s wet head. She wiped out its nostrils.
The foal didn’t move. It lay in a still, soggy heap on the straw. It didn’t show the smallest flicker of life.
“It’s dead!” Ginny said in a thin, shaky voice.
“Rub its sides,” said Michael. He pulled the membrane back. “Hard. Don’t worry. It’s not as fragile as it looks.” Ginny grabbed a fresh towel. She began to rub the foal’s narrow body briskly.
“Breathe,” she whispered. She pressed more weight on the thin little ribs. She rubbed the wet flanks harder and harder with the rough towel.
“All right,” said Michael. Ginny stopped. She looked up at him with a blank face. Then she turned her head to see why he was smiling. The foal’s funny little head was raised all the way off the straw. It was blinking at her from blurry eyes. It looked as though it was waking up from a long, deep sleep.
“Well, hi,” said Ginny. She was sitting back on her heels. The foal sneezed. Its head fell back onto the straw.
“Fantastic,” said Ginny. She was kneeling beside the foal. She watched its flanks fluttering. They moved more and more steadily as its breathing grew stronger.
“Very nice,” said Michael. His thin face split in a wide grin.
Ginny went on drying the foal, more gently. Her mind stopped spinning. The rest of the stall came slowly back into focus. Mokey was lying very still, just as she’d been when the foal was born. She was breathing gently. She had a strange, faraway look in her eyes. It was almost as though she were in a trance.
“Is she okay?” Ginny asked Michael. She was worried. Michael nodded.
“Just let her alone. She’s resting,” he said.
The foal made a sudden effort. It put out one thin foreleg. Then it rolled to an upright position. Ginny smiled at it with pride. Slowly she began to see what she’d been far too busy to notice before. She almost didn’t believe it. The foal was not spotted in uneven patches like its mother. It wasn’t spotted at all. It was a solid, rich brown. And it had a blazing white star on its forehead.
“Shouldn’t I be doing something?” Ginny asked Michael. “What about the umbilical cord? Shouldn’t it be cut?”
“Let it be,” said Michael. “It will break when the mare gets up.”
Mokey turned her head slowly. She pricked her ears. Then she gave a soft, murmuring sound, deep in her throat. To Ginny’s surprise, the foal answered with a shaky whinny.
Mokey rose to her feet. She turned to peer at her newborn foal. She was wary. Ginny moved to the side of the stall so she wouldn’t be in the way. Mokey snuffled. She blew at the damp little creature lying in her straw. It was clear that she was puzzled and unsure. She put back her ears and stamped her foot.
The foal’s heavy head bobbed and weaved at the end of its short neck. Mokey reached out to nuzzle its shoulder. Then she gave it a gentle nudge with her muzzle. The foal tipped over onto its side. Mokey jumped back in fright.
“Dumb pony,” Ginny said. “Doesn’t she know her own baby? Why is she acting like this?”
“Just give her a chance,” said Michael. “All this is new to her.” He got Mokey’s halter and handed it to Ginny. “Put this on her. Hold her for a minute. Talk to her and pat her and let her know that everything is all right.”
The foal gave another squeaky whinny. It struggled halfway to its feet. Mokey jerked the halter out of Ginny’s hands. She flew to the far side of the stall. Michael brought a lead rope. Ginny got hold of her pony. The foal fell in a tangled heap with a sad little squeal.
Ginny looked at Michael. She was worried. But he seemed totally at ease. He was whistling softly under his breath. He brought the bottle of iodine from the shelf in the tack room. He soaked a piece of cotton in it. Then he pressed it against the stump of the umbilical cord on the foal’s stomach.
“It’s a colt,” he said to Ginny over his shoulder.
Mokey snorted at the sharp smell of the iodine. The foal tried to stand up again. This time
he almost made it before he fell.
“He’s going to hurt himself!” said Ginny.
Michael smiled and shook his head. Ginny held Mokey. She stroked her shoulder gently with one hand. They all watched in silence as the colt rested and then tried once more to stand up.
Chapter Twelve
Five minutes later, the colt was standing on all four legs. He was swaying from side to side.
“Great,” Ginny said with pride. The colt took a single tottering step. Then he fell again. Mokey jumped and squealed and stamped her foot.
“Oh, cut it out, Mokey!” Ginny said. “What kind of a mother are you, anyway?”
Mokey stopped, looking sour.
“She doesn’t really understand yet,” said Michael. “She’s confused and a little bit frightened. This is her first foal. Give her a chance to get used to the idea.”
The colt scrambled to his feet. He walked shakily toward his mother. Mokey’s eyes grew wider. She backed away. She was nervous.
“How long can he wait?” Ginny asked. She was struggling to hold Mokey still. “Isn’t he hungry? Is Mokey going to hurt him if he tries to nurse?”
“She might just now, if we weren’t here,” said Michael. “But we’re not going to let that happen. That’s enough foolishness, Mokey. Like it or not, this little fellow is your responsibility.”
He scooped the staggering little foal up in his arms.
“Hold her with one hand. Pick her foreleg up with the other,” Michael said to Ginny. After a short struggle, Ginny was able to do as she had been told. Michael carried the colt over to Mokey’s side. He steadied the colt gently. The colt groped blindly for his milk.
Mokey squealed and switched her tail uneasily when the colt started to nurse.
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